


Little One

by AndAllMannerofThings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllMannerofThings/pseuds/AndAllMannerofThings
Summary: You hold him in your hands, and he is so small.





	Little One

**I.**

You’re just as nervous as Han is, but you don’t show it. One of you has to be strong, so you pat his back and murmur reassuring things. He doesn’t react, but you know he’s grateful.

Eventually, thankfully, Luke walks into the room, and he’s beaming ear to ear.

“It’s a boy,” he says, inviting you and Han into the next room.

**II.**

His name is Ben, like the Jedi. It suits him, you suppose, but not in the way you envisioned. He is not a mighty warrior, or a conquering hero. You look at the him and he is a gentle soul.

You congratulate your friends - your family, really - and you start to leave. This is their moment, not yours.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Han asks, half-jokingly. “Little guy should see his uncle.”

You stop in your tracks. Uncle?

“Of course,” Leia says with a grin. “Uncle Walking-Carpet.”

Han holds Ben out to you with a smile, and your heart skips a beat. He’s _tiny,_ and so, _so_ fragile.

“Go ahead,” Han encourages, “he won’t bite!”

You take him gingerly, delicately. You hold him in your hands and he is so small.

Ben squirms in your embrace and lets out a tiny squeak that breaks your heart and mends it back together in the same instant.

“Hello,” you whisper as best you can in your tongue, “little one.”

You have to tell the three of them six times that you had something in your eye, that you weren’t crying.

Nobody, including yourself, believes a word of it.

**III.**

Everything is perfect, you think. The Empire is but a hollow shell of itself, the New Republic is standing tall, your people are _free._

Every day is blissfully happy, in those months after Ben’s birth. Leia is a senator, championing democracy and justice. Han is a hero of the galaxy, momentarily leaving his military career behind to settle down. Luke, too, smiles to himself often.

There’s still much to be done. Villains to crush, governments to liberate, infrastructure to rebuild, legislation to write, and, even now, there are still holdouts on Kashyyyk that need to be dealt with.

For now, though, you rest. You’ve earned this.

**IV.**

You come to Chandrila to visit for a few days, and your heart swells with joy to see them again. You nearly crack Han’s ribs when you hug him. You tousle the twins’s hair, and they give matching smiles. Even Threepio and Artoo are glad when you arrive.

“Where is the little one?” you ask.

“Chewie, he’s barely two, and it’s nearly midnight. Kid’s sleeping,” Han answers with a chuckle.

“Oh,” you reply.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see him soon enough.”

**IV.**

You’re sitting in a garden, watching Ben play with his rubber balls and stuffed animals. His parents needed to step out for a moment, and you were more than willing to watch over him until they got back.

Ben shoots glances at you every so often, as though he’s looking for approval while he’s banging his toys into each other. You nod along, sagely, encouraging the little cub to continue at his games.

Your mind starts to wander, despite your best efforts to remain focused. Things are getting... difficult. The Empire has reorganised itself, a new admiral heads it, and they are out for _blood._

You were a hunter. You _are_ a hunter. You know how dangerous a wounded, cornered animal can be, and you’re worried.

A ball smacks into your forehead, snapping you back to reality. You look down, and Ben meets your gaze with another ball in his hand.

He doesn’t know your language, not yet anyway, but that doesn’t stop you. “What is it, little one?”

Ben holds up the ball. “Play with me, Uncle Chewie,” he says, with a hopeful glint in his eyes. He is so small.

Your heart breaks and mends itself back together, again.

You tell yourself that you aren’t tearing up. You play with him.

**V.**

Ben’s a strong young man, but you can see that something’s bothering him. It’s not hard to guess what it is.

Han and Leia have always had their arguments. They would bicker, toss insults, and say things they would regret.

But they always apologised and made up, in the past.

Not now. They scream. They yell. They slam doors and stomp their feet. They love each other, even now, but it’s not like it used to be. Han can barely sit still; domestic life is strangling him. Leia is drowning in her political career, each day a greater struggle than the one before.

The two of them are barely home anymore. Ben spends most of his time under the watchful eye of nannies and droids. He doesn’t have any friends.

You find him with his head in his hands, sitting against the wall. He is so small.

You crouch down beside him. “What’s wrong, little one?”

He knows your language now, at least enough of it to get the gist of what you say. “Mom and dad.”

“I know, little one, I know.” One of you has to be strong, so you pat his back. “It’ll be alright.”

“How do you know?” Ben asks, meeting your eyes.

You... you _don’t_ know. But everything has to be alright.

It has to be.

“These things work themselves out,” you say softly.

Ben’s eyes shatter as he ducks his head back down. “You don’t know.”

You search for the words to comfort him, but you can’t find any.

“I’m here,” you finally say.

“I know.”

**VI.**

The Jedi Temple is impressive. Luke certainly knows what he’s doing.

Or, at least, that’s the idea most of the New Republic has when it’s unveiled. Privately, Luke confides to you that he’s terrified. He’s afraid that he’ll make the same mistake the Order did, all those years before.

It’s not your place, Leia should be the one saying these things, but you tell him anyway. “You won’t. The Jedi need a leader, and they found one in you.”

Luke doesn’t smile, doesn’t even stop frowning. He thanks you and disappears back into the halls.

**VII.**

Ben’s a man, now, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He’s still small, skinny, with tree-branch limbs and a paper-thin frame.

He’s happier, though. Or he’s gotten better at hiding when he’s sad.

You pray that it’s the former, but a gnawing in your stomach says it’s the latter.

Still, you see him when you can. He needs someone, anyone. His parents can barely stay in the same room with each other, and the boy is left alone more often than not.

**VIII.**

Ben’s training to be a Jedi now, and everyone agrees that it’s a great idea. Han hopes that it will give the boy some guidance, Leia thinks that it will allow him to find balance, and Luke believes that Ben has the potential to be a new hope for the galaxy.

Ben puts on a brave face, despite the pressure. He goes willingly, and he is by all accounts a worthy pupil.

You sigh with relief. Maybe things will get better.

**IX.**

The whole galaxy knows who Vader’s children are, and it pushes everyone past the edge.

Leia’s career is effectively over. She still has allies in the Senate, but no-one is going to vote for the illegitimate daughter of a Sith.

Luke’s a pariah. The golden boy of the Rebellion is now an eccentric man dabbling in the same things that led the Old Republic to ruination.

For a few brief, glorious weeks, things are alright, though. Han and Leia start to talk like they used to. Their arguments are friendly bickering, and they embrace each other warmly.

But Ben is crushed. He’s no longer the bright young boy you knew.

He’s dark. Angry.

And he is so small, in the shadows of the Jedi Temple, as he brushes away from your touch.

**X.**

You’re with Leia one late night, consoling her over Ben’s sudden disappearance. He’s vanished, and no-one knows where to.

“He’ll be back,” you say, rubbing her shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

Leia blames herself, says that she should’ve spent more time with her only son, that she should’ve made sure he knew he was the most important thing in her life.

You’re about to reply when she cries out in agony and falls to her knees. You panic, shout for a medic.

Leia waves off the droid that runs in. The pain isn’t physical.

**XI.**

It’s happened again.

**XII.**

Luke is gone. He left no instructions, no messages.

The Temple is naught but ash and bones. The Jedi are destroyed.

Ben... he’s not dead. It’s much worse than that.

If he was dead, there would be closure.

Kylo Ren is a twisted monster, working for the First Order. You see a few of the propaganda holos that filter in from the front. You see your nephew cut down scores of beings with a crimson blade that crackles with hatred. You see the boy you used to play with strangle a man with the Force. You see the baby you held in your trembling hands reduce town after town to cinders.

Even now, he is small.

**XIII.**

You can hardly believe your eyes when you see Han approach. He’s aged. Badly. His hair is white, his skin is wrinkled, and the spark in his gaze is replaced with resignation.

“Come with me?” he asks. He sounds broken. He hasn’t seen Leia in months, he tells you. He has no-one left but you.

He’ll always have you.

You nod. “Of course.”

**XIV.**

You both like to pretend that it’s like the good old days, when Han Solo and Chewbacca were the toast of backwaters all across the Outer Rim, when smuggling was your lifeblood and danger your oxygen, when finding enough credits to eat was your only concern.

It’s not like the old days. Not at all.

Han has his bravado and his wit, as always, but the flame is missing. He’s not doing this because he wants to. He’s doing it because he has to.

There’s not a doubt in your mind that if Han stops to process what has happened, he’ll die.

So you keep moving. You keep swindling and blasting and defying the odds.

**XV.**

The _Falcon_ is gone, and Han is despondent. He gives up the search after a few weeks, and he drinks.

He drinks too much. Far too much.

You can count the number of times Han’s shed a tear in your presence on one hand.

Tonight, he’s weeping.

He misses his family. He misses them so much. It burns in his veins, melts his heart.

You miss them, too. You miss Leia. You miss Luke. You miss Ben.

You let Han cry himself out, mostly because you’ve no idea what to do.

“It’ll be alright,” you tell him.

**XVI.**

The pain fades as time ticks by. It doesn’t stop hurting, but it becomes bearable.

Once, in a bar in the Core, an agent of the Resistance finds you when Han’s out in the city.

“General Organa wishes to offer you a position in the fight against the First Order.”

You ask if the offer includes Han. It doesn’t.

“No. I can’t.”

The agent nods. “The General thought you would say that. She asks you to keep an eye on ‘the old nerf-herder’.”

You promise Leia you will.

**XVII.**

“Chewie, we’re _home,_ ” Han says. You swell with joy.

You are _home._

**XVIII.**

Leia is older than you remember, older than she looks in the holos and posters.

But when she embraces Han, they look young again, if only for a moment.

You feel young again, too. Maybe this will all be worth it, in the end.

**XIX.**

You never really cared for the cold. Hoth was bad enough, but this rock in the Unknown Regions is _awful._

It’s not just the weather. You don’t need the Force to feel the darkness swirling around you.

You both know who you’re going to find inside the base. Han is grim, but hopeful.

“I have to see him.”

You have to see him, too.

**XX.**

Han tumbles from the bridge, into the abyss below. You feel your heart break, and you know it will never mend again.

You never got to say goodbye, and that’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt.

You scream into the air. It’s filled with rage and hatred and betrayal and unbearable sadness.

You keep screaming. You pray that the last few decades have just been one horrible dream. Any second now, you’re going to wake up in a booth on Tatooine, and some old man with a lightsaber at his waist is going to make you an offer too good to refuse.

You raise your bowcaster, and you aim it at Kylo Ren, determined to kill him, to make him hurt as badly as you do.

You look down the barrel. He’s cast in crimson light, and he’s barely comprehending anything around him. He’s lost in his own mind, staring at the blade stained with the blood of his father.

He is so small.

You pull the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a little bit of an experiment in writing in prose style, I hope it came out alright!


End file.
